“I serve on behalf of Her Majesty the Queen. That’s why there’s a crown on the shoulder of my uniform.” Joe increased in height. He wasn’t scared of a pretentious gobshite like Zak. “And I’m also here at her personal request to protect a member of her family. So if you want me to piss off, Mr Smythe-Unwin, you better hop in a cab and go to Buckingham Palace.”
“Al…” Zak’s lips brushed Alejandro’s cheek. “You can tell your nan to get rid of the hired muscle, can’t you?”
“I don’t want to,” he replied in a tiny voice. “Fuckface called me a queer cunt this morning, it was horrible. It’s frightening, Zak.”
“It’s just some tit on the internet.” Zak shook his head. “This is way over the top. Someone’s leaving banter on your photos, you get scared, then some muscley bloke moves into your house. Do you like that, Al? Hoping to walk in on him in the shower?”
Zak almost sounded as if he was joking, but the underlying threat in his voice was repellent. Mel heard it too, Joe was sure. She had picked up a large blusher brush and she curled and uncurled her hand around the handle as if it would somehow be useful to wallop Zak with.
“I’m with you.” Alejandro forced the smile a little, clearly trying for something brighter. Instead he just looked ill. “Joe— Sergeant Wenlock’s here in case something happens because you can’t always be around. The photo was just me being silly, you know how I am. I’m extra, you’re always saying it.”
“Yeah, well don’t do it again.” The demand was throwaway, as if Zak were always dishing out orders. He probably did. He seemed the type. “I don’t want to lose my little Al. Film star mum, Nan wears a crown, pretty to have on my arm when I’m arse-kissing investors, not too bad at sticking on the slap. What’s not to like?”
He glanced at Joe then, a possessive snarl curling his lip. Did he want Alejandro for who he was? Flamboyant and creative? No, Alejandro was Zak’s meal ticket, and he didn’t do much to hide it.
He kissed the top of Alejandro’s head. His voice now clotting with fake affection, he said, “My little Al! Stop nicking my spotlight, you!”
“Your designs are amazing,” Alejandro told his boyfriend, tilting his head up to look at Zak. But they weren’t. They were…generic. Like a plain black suit. “Thank you for asking me to paint for you.”
Joe didn’t need to be able to see Mel’s face to know that she shared his opinion of Zak. Even covered in neon paint and makeup as she was, her eyes gave her away as Zak kissed his boyfriend, but the gesture looked anything but romantic. Zak engulfed Alejandro, the muscular arm that held him not so much an embrace as a control and even as they were kissing, Alejandro seemed to shrink further.
Joe wished he could find an excuse to frisk Zak, find the drugs that were inevitably in his pocket, and chuck him in a cell, far away from Alejandro. Why didn’t Alejandro split up with Zak, or was he really too terrified of him? Those school bullies had a lot to answer for. Were they the reason Alejandro seemed to expect cruelty from those around him? So much for the enviable lives of the rich and famous.
“Cup of tea?” Joe asked.
Zak glanced at him, then at Alejandro, in surprise. “What, you think I’m hanging around?”
“You’re not?” Was that disappointment in Alejandro’s voice, Joe wondered? Or relief? “Did you like what I did with your concept? Did I make it come to life like you’d hoped? I had to make a few little adjustments just to bring out the…”
His voice trailed off as he peered into Zak’s face, seeing anything but appreciation for his work. But the sneer turned into something resembling a grin, and Alejandro looked absurdly grateful for that patronising grimace.
“Yeah, you did my design all right, but dial it down a bit, won’t you?” Zak cackled. “You been on the sniff again?”
“I’m hyper enough without it!” Alejandro laughed. He stole a glance at Joe, then lowered his voice. “How’re you feeling? I was worried when— You were out of it on Halloween, I tried to call—”
“Yeah, I saw you’d tried to ring.” Zak sounded rather bored by his boyfriend’s concern. “No need to worry about me. I’m not the one who cries about online bants!” He shone Joe an unpleasant toothy grin.
Joe came closer. Rising a little on his toes, as if it were a move all coppers learnt at police college, Joe said, “Your boyfriend has received concerning threats against his safety. We’re taking it seriously, and so should you. Any and all threats against Mr Fuente will be evaluated. And that means everyone in Mr Fuente’s circle. Do you understand?”
Zak puffed out his cheeks. “If you say so!”
“And that means no risk-taking behaviour.” Joe raised an insinuating eyebrow and Zak smirked. “Drugs, for instance.”
“Oh my God,” Alejandro murmured. “You promised you wouldn’t—”
“I can handle myself.” Zak prodded his finger against Joe’s chest. “It’s Alejandro who can’t.”
“I’m not accusing anyone of anything,” Joe said. “I am merely ensuring that everyone is aware of the best ways to continue Alejandro’s safety.”
“I told you I’d talk to him! Is that what your promises are worth?” Alejandro jerked free of Zak’s clutching embrace and stalked towards the door. He paused only to slide the bolt back, then wrenched the door open and stepped out of the studio, leaving his bodyguard behind.
Joe glanced back at the scowling Zak and ran after Alejandro. Once he was outside, he scanned the people in the road for the bright blue of Alejandro’s shirt. He spotted him just up ahead and Joe ran, swerving past other people, his focus entirely on his principal. He knew better than to call out, and only said Alejandro’s name once he had his hand on his elbow.
“Come on, mate. You can’t just run off.”
“I almost thought you understood!” He spun to face Joe, his expression a mask of unhappiness. “I asked you— You’re just like the other two, you don’t understand me at all! I told you I’d talk to him!”
“Would you have said a word to that bully?” Joe put his hand on Alejandro’s shoulder. “I have to keep you safe, and that includes making sure that people around you behave responsibly.” Joe stepped closer to him, creating a barrage between Alejandro and people passing by on the pavement. “You don’t need to be scared of him. I won’t let him hurt you, Alejandro. I’m at your side.”
“Are you really wearing a stab vest?” He blinked up at Joe. “I hope he broke a nail when he prodded you.”
“I am really wearing one, yes.” Joe tried a smile. “You can tap it if you like!”
“I bet you say that to all the pretty girls.” But Alejandro clearly couldn’t resist and he tapped his fingertip lightly against Joe’s chest. Then his pout returned. “And I thought that was all muscle!”
Joe smiled properly now. He liked Alejandro’s fascination with his build. “I don’t like to brag, but I’m quite firm under there. Although not quite firm enough to repel weapons!”
“Quite firm?” He looked around then shivered. They should get back inside. “On a scale of one to ten?”
“An eight, easily.” Joe shrugged off his jacket and draped it around Alejandro’s shoulders. He swallowed down a pang as he was suddenly reminded of Paloma. “Here, keep yourself warm in this. Let’s get back to the studio.”
“An eight.” Alejandro snuggled into the jacket, just as Paloma had. Sweet Paloma with her sing-song voice, a world away from Alejandro’s spiky carping. “I’m still a little bit annoyed, but I’m too cold to argue. My private life should be my business.”
Joe gritted his teeth. How could he protect someone who behaved as if they didn’t want to be safe?
Back at the studio, Zak had gone and Mel had put on her coat. “He’s buggered off. I threatened to eat his brains.”
“Are you going home in your paint?” Alejandro clapped his hands together, pitching back from annoyance to delight once more. “Was he still very angry? Should I message him?”
Mel rolled her eyes. “Why don’t
you just dump him? Say ‘Get in the bin, Zak.’ He’s so horrible to you, it’d hardly be a loss.”
Alejandro fell silent and Joe remembered the question he had asked when they were alone.
‘Have you ever made a mistake and then you just have to live with it?’
What was Alejandro’s mistake? It didn’t look like love that kept them together and it certainly wasn’t Zak’s winning personality. He had a hell of a meal ticket in Alejandro, but there didn’t seem to be much in it for him. Maybe it was just like Joe and Wendy, easier to pretend the problems weren’t there.
Mel patted Alejandro’s arm. “Time to go. I know which makeup I prefer.” She looked at Joe. “Nice jacket, by the way.”
“We can give you a ride home.” Alejandro slipped the jacket from his shoulders and held it out to Joe. As he did, he asked Mel far too innocently, “Are you going to Vicky’s bash tonight?”
This was the first mention of this bash and he threw it in so casually that it had to be suspicious. Another challenge from Joe’s serial escapee?
“A lift would be great! Well, Granny’s come down on one of her flying visits from Scotland, so I can’t. But I can get my revenge by jumping out on her like this!” Mel made a bizarre zombie-like groaning noise in her throat. Then she asked, “Why, are you going?”
“No, I’m not in the mood to have a nice time now.” He pouted that theatrical pout and looked at Joe. “Don’t worry, Sergeant, I’ll be safely tucked up with Netflix and gin so you can have the boys round or watch the rugby or whatever you like to do.”
“I might clip my toenails, actually.” As Joe took out his phone and called for the car to collect them, he decided on a plan. Alejandro wouldn’t give him the slip again, that much was certain.
Chapter Five
The drive home was frostier than the autumn air outside, and worsened after Mel had been dropped off at a stuccoed Georgian mansion. Joe wished he could have followed, if only to see how Granny would react to her makeup.
Once they arrived at the house, Joe checked it was secure before allowing a thoroughly peeved Alejandro to enter.
“I’m sorry about earlier,” Joe said, not wanting the tension to linger. “I have a job to do, Alejandro.”
“But it’s my private life.” Alejandro hung his coat up, carefully brushing down the fabric. “My relationship can’t be part of your remit, Sergeant, surely? I can’t believe that in your job you haven’t seen people doing the odd bit of coke. Do you get all heavy every time?”
Joe sighed and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Right, I’ll have to be vague here and not name names, but I was once CPO for a government minister. His son was known to go out boozing and partying, and thanks to his dealer coming at him with a knife because he owed him some money, a SWAT team turned up. I’m sure your mum and your nan wouldn’t be too happy if Zak got caught up like that while you were on his arm. So yeah, you might think your private life is off limits, but we take your safety very seriously.”
“I’m going for a bath, then I’m going to work on my sketches and drink some champers.” He tossed his hair, the gesture too casual again. How he’d slipped two other officers Joe couldn’t guess, because Alejandro was as transparent as a pane of glass. Vicky’s party beckoned after that bath, not the sketchbook and bubbly. “And if I find a toenail anywhere, I’ll tell Abuelita and she’ll throw you in the tower!”
“Well, I’ll leave you to it, then. Give me a shout if you need anything.” Joe grinned, deciding to do some teasing of his own. “And no, that doesn’t include giving you a back scrub in the bath.”
“Spoilsport.” Alejandro hopped up onto the first step. “Behave, Sergeant, it’s just me and Mariah at bath time!”
And off he trotted, disappearing up the staircase and into the shadows.
Joe went into the kitchen and put on the television. It was blaring out a macho cookery programme apparently designed to show men that cooking could be manly. Just the sort of thing that Alejandro would assume he’d be glued to. Then Joe crept up to the landing, keeping his feet on the very outside edge of each step to lessen the risk of any creaking stairs giving him away.
Not that he should have worried, as Mariah Carey was warbling away at top volume behind Alejandro’s door. Joe winced. There was another voice too, singing along and more than keeping pace with Mariah, though with far less unnecessary acrobatics.
Alejandro?
It was quite a voice.
Joe went into his room, keeping the door slightly ajar, the light off. Downstairs, a man was talking blokily about lamb tagine while across the corridor two divas sang. Joe focussed his hearing on Alejandro’s voice, waiting in the dark for his Houdini to make his move.
Time ticked by, long minutes as the shadows lengthened into darkness and though Mariah kept singing, Alejandro’s voice eventually fell silent. Joe could hear him moving around his room and, an hour after he went upstairs, Alejandro’s door opened. Joe heard his bare feet tread along the hallway and enter the room in which he stored his costumes and makeup. There was more noise, drawers opening and closing, coat hangers rattling, then he returned to his bedroom and closed the door very softly.
This is it. He’s going out the window.
Joe moved with practised stealth on light steps. He made barely a sound as he got downstairs and through the front door, then once he was in the street, he hid in the shadows near the top of the alleyway which connected the back gardens to the outside world. He had a good view through the leafless trees of the back of Alejandro’s house.
He sent a message to the Control Centre.
Peanut on the move.
Joe didn’t have long to spend in the cold before the window opened and Alejandro appeared, his slender figure framed in the light. In his hand he held a large bag, its leopard print surface garish in the streetlamps. He leaned out as far as he could and let the bag fall, then disappeared into the bedroom for a few seconds more. When he reappeared again, he was wearing a long overcoat of dazzling blue and a wide-brimmed black fedora.
He might as well have a target painted on him.
Alejandro didn’t appear to think twice about his escape route and Joe could picture the tracker the young man was supposed to carry, even now probably thrown onto the bed or left on the side of the bath. He had no intention of being followed. Yet on Joe’s phone there came a message from Control, as though they’d read his mind.
Tracker moving. Stay with him, advise if support required.
As though this was how he always left home Alejandro swung his legs out onto the drainpipe and emerged from the window, drawing it closed after him. Then he easily scaled the heavy drainpipe and landed on the ground, picking up the fallen bag without so much as a pause. Just in time, it seemed, as a black cab rolled to a halt on the other side of the garden wall and tooted its horn. Alejandro glanced up at the window then hurried past Joe, easily scaling the wall to reach the taxi, the smile on his face one that said he knew he’d won this particular battle.
Or not.
The bloody fool. Stupid enough to abscond but, luckily, stupid enough to do it with his tracker in his pocket.
Joe sent a message to Control for a car. It was with him in minutes, a screen in the dashboard already blinking with the tracker Alejandro was carrying. Unless he’d dumped it in one cab and switched to another, but somehow Joe didn’t think so. Alejandro was all drama and noise, and wrong-footing the GPS tracker required the sort of quiet cunning that he didn’t seem to possess.
Hopefully.
Unless he’d fed it to an urban fox. But if he had, the fox was heading down the main road towards the centre of London.
Joe’s full attention was on the screen, watching the flashing dot that indicated his principal, travelling without protection. Despite his focus, a sensation of pity dampened Joe’s alertness. This could end in tears if Alejandro didn’t accept the danger he was in. And that solitary dot, moving closer and closer to the city’s busiest streets, seemed horribly
alone.
Then it hit him.
Alejandro had asked Mel if she was going to Vicky’s bash. It wasn’t Princess Victoria, was it? The venue would be crawling with protection officers so at least Alejandro would have some safety. But that would be a lot of people knowing Joe had lost his principal.
And how crap was Joe at coppering if he hadn’t twigged that at once? He slapped his forehead in annoyance and sent another message to Control.
Is Pineapple having a party tonight?
This time the reply was more than the usual factual, characterless lines that communicated information and nothing more. It must be a quiet night in the Greenhouse.
22nd birthday. James Bond bash at Firehouse. Good luck keeping your dignity - never been happier to be the woman stuck behind the monitors.
Firehouse? Only one of the most expensive places in London.
Suspect Peanut heading to Firehouse. Wearing blue coat, black hat. Eyeball but do not intercept. ETA 5 mins.
The next message was just what he had expected, all levity set aside.
Received and communicated. You’re cleared for the door.
Joe was hardly dressed for the occasion but he couldn’t worry about that now. He could imagine the elaborate sequinned dresses and the hired tuxedos. But Joe would be there.
The dot on the screen had stopped moving.
“It’s the Firehouse,” Joe told the driver, and in under a minute, they drew up outside the venue.
Joe didn’t run, even though all his energy was drawn up inside him like a coiled spring. He walked, inconspicuous, and headed up the steps. The CPO on the door, wearing a suit that Alejandro would definitely not have approved of, nodded at Joe as he entered.
Just as he had expected, the place was packed with glitzy dresses and tuxedos. Joe stuck out in his leather jacket and jeans. If Alejandro saw him, he’d probably bolt again. And there was no Alejandro to be seen, unless he’d had a tux on under his get-up and he had managed to blend in.
The Reluctant Royal Page 8